


Like a Cupcake

by Sifter401



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Analingus, But also kissing and romance and good shit like that, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Femslash, Lesbian Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 05:29:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16528316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sifter401/pseuds/Sifter401
Summary: Vi's got a sweet tooth for something Caitlyn-shaped.Or:There ain't enough ass eatin' on this website, so I decided to stand up for what I love and believe in.





	Like a Cupcake

**Author's Note:**

> Bet ya didn’t expect this from me, eh? This happens to be a favorite ship of mine, and I figured if I didn’t at least write something during my slump, I wouldn’t be writing for a while. So, Voila. 
> 
> Don't mind me, I hope you enjoy!

“Pretty please?”

The words are whispered, like rainfall on an empty street, like a password spoken to a speakeasy, like the soft hairs of a paintbrush gliding over a canvas. Like Vi’s heated breath on Caitlyn’s pale skin.

Caitlyn’s dress is warm in Vi’s hands, silky and slipping between her fingers as she gropes from her thighs to her belly and eagerly higher. Almost as warm as Caitlyn herself.

“Vi…”

The tone of her voice is honest and raw, the ever-present mask of professionalism melted and dripping down her thighs. A petite hand with deceptively slender trigger fingers reaches up over Caitlyn’s shoulder and cups Vi’s cheek. Vi slips a finger into her mouth without hesitation and sucks.

The moan Vi receives she drinks up like her daily cup of coffee, just as dark and invigorating. But she wants more than just a moan.

The skirt is shorter than it should be for an officer of the law, much shorter, but Vi has long since stopped questioning; never look a gift whore in the mouth and all that jazz. She reaches down Caitlyn’s hips for the ruffled hem, slips under and rises again, and she knows Caitlyn likes being touched like this because she hasn’t told her to stop.

She moves higher, past the lace of her panties- she used to wear shorts under her skirt, but then she met Vi, and then she slept with Vi, and then she kept sleeping with Vi- over the soft, soft skin of her belly, softer than the dress, and stops when Vi can feel her heartbeat. When she has two, lacy handfuls of Caitlyn, sensitive bits rolling between thumb and forefinger.

Caitlyn groans. Her hands come to shadow Vi’s through the fabric.

“You’ve got real nice tits, Cupcake,” Vi whispers again, lips grazing the shell of her Cupcake’s ear, “but you know I’ve always been an ass kinda gal.”

She accentuates her point when one hand travels to Caitlyn’s backside and squeezes. Vi pinches the tip of her ear between her teeth and grins when Caitlyn exhales hard.

“Have I told you no?” It comes out almost as one word, definitely on one breath.

“Haven’t told me yes.”

Caitlyn laughs. It’s a small laugh, one her lungs can barely afford, but butterflies tickle Vi’s stomach anyway because Vi is the cause.

“Have I ever told you no?”

Vi thinks on that. A couple offers in Caitlyn’s office, a few swatted hands walking down a lonely street, but for anything that mattered,

“No.”

Caitlyn turns her head then, presenting herself to Vi with half-lidded eyes, and she’s just as beautiful in the gloom of their unlit kitchenette as she was in the hallway outside their front door where Vi’d decided she couldn’t wait any longer. She swallows, staring at the fullness of her lips, and when she kisses Caitlyn, it’s not violent but it’s also not gentle. Firm, but malleable and rich, like Piltovian chocolate. Like Caitlyn’s ass.

They make out in that same uncomfortable position for longer than they mean to, which means that by the time they stop, they’re joints are already aching and the fun part hasn’t started yet. Vi’s tongue still tastes like Caitlyn, though, so it wasn’t all bad.

Caitlyn lets her head fall back on Vi’s shoulder, and Vi falls forward into the sweet-smelling crook of her neck where she knows Caitlyn applies her perfume. She lets her hands explore Caitlyn’s body at a fraction of the pace.

“In that case, I need a shower,” Caitlyn says as faintly as her skin was fair.

“I’ll join you.” Her words are muffled and probably incoherent, but Caitlyn reaches back and cards her fingers through Vi’s hair like she understands.

“Please do.”

They stand there a moment longer in the darkness, the only sounds the pitter patter of rain against the kitchen window and the occasional sigh from Caitlyn. Eventually, one of them thinks to flip the light switch on, and they blink to adjust to the sudden flood of white before they stumble to the direction of the master bathroom.

**ooooo**

Caitlyn is crafted more exquisitely than a Demacian fencing rapier, Vi thinks. Creamy, pliable skin layered smoothly over muscle, slate black waves down to her waist, the right amount of thick around the edges. A waist that tapers like the strongest bottle of booze, and an ass more sumptuous and explicit than anything found on the dessert menu of Piltover’s finest of fine dining.

Caitlyn also has the eyes of a hawk and sees Vi staring. Vi grins, and Caitlyn smiles too. A simple upward curve of the lip, smug, but not condemning. Makes Vi want to bend her over the sink and fuck her, but she chews on her cheek and crosses her legs instead. Caitlyn’s eyes twinkle victoriously in the mirror.

When Caitlyn reaches for the makeup tin, Vi’s eyebrow quirks.

“You know I don’t care about that kinda stuff, right?” Vi speaks up, “makes you look like plastic, if you ask me.”

Caitlyn’s fingers skip right over the tin and curl around the handle of the hair dryer. “I know,” she singsongs. “But I hate wet hair.”

While she dries her locks, Vi entertains herself with thoughts of things to come- mainly Caitlyn. She realizes she’s been caught smirking at her own joke when the object of her fantasy clears her throat.

Vi looks up and immediately hums. Caitlyn leans with her back against the counter, hair spilling aesthetically over her shoulder, and fixes Vi with her gorgeous ochre eyes dripping promises like a chocolate fountain. Her breasts are full and settle perfectly upon her chest, and the patch of charcoal hair between her thighs competes with her eyes for Vi’s attention and barely loses. Her entire figure begs to be caressed.

The tile floor is cold on her feet but she doesn’t notice. Vi crosses the room and sidles up to Caitlyn, legs straddling her still-crossed thighs. She takes Caitlyn’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, and Caitlyn’s simpering lips falter and fall open as Vi closes the gap. Stops an inch away, admires the gentle authority of Caitlyn’s face, and then she kisses her.

Nicotine and breath mints, with a hint of chocolate cupcake frosted with vanilla. The same as it always was, but a good kind of same- reliable, and Vi was hard pressed to take for granted anything reliable with the life she’d had.

Caitlyn’s leg lifts to Vi’s crotch and Vi grinds obediently, groaning as the friction tickles her clit. The kiss devolves quickly after that, and in moments they’re no better than teenagers discovering the joys of making out for first time. Unlike teenagers, though, they hold an iota of self-control, and they break away with fire still popping like sparklers in their eyes.

Caitlyn licks her perfect lips and Vi wants to lick them, too. But she remembers what else she can lick, and she adjusts her stance and brings Caitlyn closer as she lifts her up. Caitlyn cranes her neck around to see where Vi takes them- to the bed, sheets unwrinkled and splashed with rainy grey from the window.

The carpet feels nice sandwiched between Vi’s toes, certainly nicer than the cold tile of the bathroom. She lets Caitlyn touch down, still clinging to Vi’s neck, and Caitlyn roots her fingers in her scalp and pulls her into a kiss again. Full-bodied and sparing nothing, garnished with restless anticipation. Vi’s favorite kind. She can tell Caitlyn is excited because it’s her tongue that smothers Vi’s, not the other way around.

Vi growls and steps forward so that Caitlyn’s legs bump the foot of the bed, and she gets the picture. She spins around in Vi’s hands, lips and eyes the last to disappear, and as she bends over slightly to climb, Vi bends over too, palms on the front of Caitlyn’s thighs, and bites her shoulder hard enough to mark. Caitlyn takes in a breath and freezes, and Vi feels her up one last time before she releases her.

Caitlyn mantles the bed like a lynx, shoulders high and royal and back arched. She lays down with her head resting in her crossed arms and opens her legs to make room for Vi, who remains captivated by the sight of Caitlyn spread and wanting.

“Beautiful,” she utters, like Caitlyn is the magnum opus of a prodigal sculptor and Vi is the sightseer in awe. Caitlyn flushes beneath her mane of hair, Vi knows because Caitlyn can’t take a compliment worth a damn.

She starts with Caitlyn’s feet, kneeling and leaning in. Vi’s careful with Caitlyn, handles her like delicate glass, because in this cold, fragile city this was the one thing she didn’t want to break. She presses kisses to Caitlyn’s toes, then sucks them, tongue swiping around and through, and they curl in her mouth. Then she kisses the arches and then the heel, and they have a texture like suede, a far cry from Vi’s own calloused feet.

Her ankles are next, then her calves, and Vi begins to crawl onto the bed. She kisses the depressions of her knees, and as she begins the journey up Caitlyn’s succulent thighs, she curbs the pace and kisses like she’s making out again. Hickeys sprout purple like love letters to the sculptor, confessing Vi’s devotion to the flesh in her mouth, and even Caitlyn’s whines are poshly accented and drawling.

The bed is large and Caitlyn lies as close to the top as she comfortably can so that Vi has just enough room to lie down herself. She straddles Caitlyn’s thighs with her elbows, and her eyes follow the curve of her back all the way to where strands of silky black obscure her face. Vi kisses her tailbone. Caitlyn shivers.

Vi squeezes Caitlyn’s ass and delights at how her flesh surrenders beneath her fingertips. She’s warm in her palms and tender like sponge cake, softness swelling between her fingers, and Vi takes greedy mouthfuls shamelessly. Thumbs slip between her cheeks and spread Caitlyn wide. Vi stops a moment and stares, licking her lips- in Vi’s mind, there are few greater pleasures than the rush of power as a woman squirms beneath her.

There’s a dark stripe of skin surrounding Caitlyn’s butthole, and Vi begins there. She smears her tongue like butter on fresh toast, but it’s Caitlyn that melts into moans. Vi grins, flickers the tip of her tongue through her butthole, and licks the stripe from the other side.

“Vi…” Caitlyn begs, and Vi’s name, her filthy, destitute, lawless name sounds noble and dignified when that debonair voice purrs it like a prayer.

She licks Caitlyn again but right through the center, a lascivious stroke that passes through her intimately, and her hips buck feebly into Vi’s mouth.

“Oh, Vi…” Caitlyn moans, and her voice cracks, and Vi is done with teasing. Now, she eats.

Vi is a hard worker, as thorough as she is impulsive. She buries her face as deep as she can, pulls apart Caitlyn’s cheeks and buries herself a little further, and she won’t leave until the job is done. Thunder rolls against the pane of glass like Vi’s tongue rolls through Caitlyn’s butt, and Vi closes her eyes and listens to the rumbling of the sky.

“Vi… oh, Vi…” Caitlyn croons. Her breath is audible and her hands ball the sheets.

Caitlyn smells like coconut and feels like a tropical breeze, humid and brushing her nose. She tastes like clean skin, but Vi enjoys the natural flavor. All women have their own unique taste, and Caitlyn’s brought to mind peppermint and memories of the evidence locker after hours.

Vi adjusts the angle of her tongue and Caitlyn pushes back onto Vi’s face as she finds rhythm again, and it’s clear that Vi has done this before. On Caitlyn several times, but with other women primarily, and Vi thinks it strange because she can’t remember any of their names. It’s as if they were ultimately inconsequential in the timeline of Vi’s life, and they were. Caitlyn, her sheriff, is the only one that matters, now.

“Vi…” Caitlyn’s hair sticks to her face in sweaty clods, long brows knit and dry lips parted, and the soreness of Vi’s jaw assuages the more she watches her shoulders heave.

The technique changes a dozen times, squiggly figures to dips and dives to sandpapery strokes, but the pace is always lethargic, Vi’s movements select and meticulous. Her tongue aches and her fingers fatigue, but Vi loves her sheriff so, and so she pushes through it both figuratively and literally. She can’t get very deep, little more than the tip of her tongue, but Caitlyn whimpers in surprise anyway.

“I want to come, Vi,” Caitlyn says like it’s a fact, a quiet one, a whispered one. One that only Vi needs to know.

Vi backs off a little, trading vigor for a hundred circles tracing light as a feather around Caitlyn’s butthole. Caitlyn’s hips wriggle, Vi’s strong grip keeps them where they are as she teases.

“Vi, please, I want to come.” Caitlyn is desperate, shifting as she swelters and sweats. The air is cold but Caitlyn’s body is so, so hot.

Face enshrouded, Vi’s cheeks are ablaze. She’s content to burn, though, so she laps through the sweat and feels a bead of it creep down her own forehead as the flames engulf her in soft, pillowy flesh.

“Vi, please, I want…” Caitlyn whines and pushes herself onto Vi’s face, “I want to come.”

She twists her head and strains to see Vi over her shoulder, spots her through her tangled hair. She sees Vi’s eyes crinkle like they do when she smiles slyly, and she sees her wink. And then Caitlyn collapses into a fit of shivery moans as two of Vi’s fingers slip inside her and curl.

Vi syncs the motions of her fingers with those of her mouth and liquefies the last vestiges of Caitlyn’s stamina, popping the cork in her pussy and bathing in the sweet champagne that drizzles out in pulses. “ _Vi!_ ” Caitlyn cries, but tremors break it into eight stuttering syllables- the most divine eight syllables Vi’s heard since, “I want you to move in with me.”

Caitlyn comes down as slow as a maple leaf in autumn, and equally as lively and fluttery. Her hips dance and grind the comforter and she creaks the bedframe as she rocks the mattress to a steady tempo. Her moans jaunt to the tune of Vi’s tongue, her sharp inhales to the measured coiling of Vi’s fingers. Vi only relieves her jaw when Caitlyn is too numb to feel her ministrations.

Her spine cricks as Vi sits up on her feet, and she steals a moment to stretch and admire Caitlyn’s post-coital beauty. A smile tugs the corner of her lip, and Vi lets it flourish when she remembers she’s in a safe place.

Caitlyn is still on her stomach when Vi clambers over her. Her breath labors, a mesmerizing sound that reminds Vi of warm summer winds, and her paleness is flushed cherry red. When she turns over, it’s only her top half, and only enough for Caitlyn to fix Vi with a gooey, chocolatey gaze.

Her lips are dry but Vi wets them for her with her own. Caitlyn reaches around like she did in the kitchen and anchors herself in Vi’s scalp, and Vi lets her weight oppress the small, naked form cowering in her shade. They linger temple-to-forehead despite their complaining necks.

“I love you, Vi,” Caitlyn says. Her quiet breath disturbs the cascade of pink grazing her cheek.

Vi hums. “I know,” she says, and she kisses Caitlyn’s cheek as she retires to the mattress. Vi feels tingles as Caitlyn smiles into the pillow.

Thunder cracks and the downpour outside the frigid window aggravates. The storm is supposed to temper by tomorrow morning, but Piltover’s mood is as erratic as a housefly. Vi isn’t particularly worried; with her arms slung around her waist and her head laying across Caitlyn’s upper back, Vi can easily distinguish her sheriff’s sleepy heartbeat from the other droning sounds of a dreary evening, and if Caitlyn isn’t bothered, neither is Vi. Her eyelids close themselves and she drifts off to the tinny beating of rain and a reliable _thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump_.

**Author's Note:**

> Had a lot more fun writing this than I thought I would. I’ve been feeling kind of off for a while now, and it surprised me how easy this was to write. Hope you liked it!


End file.
